Alone in the World
by Mastouffe
Summary: He creates a world of lively friends from his art work.


Since the first eighty years of his emergence from the pond, Jack's hopes and attempts of getting someone, _anyone_, to see him slowly starts to fade. Still he doesn't give up but any effort he puts into getting the villagers to notice him takes a toll on him.

It's the first time in those eighty years that Jack decides to leave Burgess and its surrounding towns.

The winter spirit flies over mountains and growing towns, stopping by the villages and decorating the glass windows with frost, only to realize once again that it, _he_, will go unnoticed. Jack drags his staff onto the ground and leaves a trail of ice behind him.

This time he lets the wind carry him off to wherever the entity pleases.

The wind drifts off with him until Jack notices a small town, one that's not illuminated with lights from the cottages and brick houses. He floats down until he's touching ground and sees no one, not a single person, he sees that it's empty, dark, and the small buildings are growing old and rusty. It's abandoned.

It's lonely too and the feeling is all too familiar to Jack, but this does not bother him. Solitude is Jack's only friend.

He walks around, glancing at battered cottages and notices how this was once a lively place. Jack briefly wonders what must have happened before he decides to sit on a creaky porch. Snow starts to fall lightly around him, the moon gleaming down upon the young boy. Jack looks up, a dismal smile gracing his lips.

He spends a few more minutes there until he stands up getting ready to call wind when an idea hits him. Jack's seen Sandman do this before and though he's never met the golden man personally, he decides that trying the golden man's technique couldn't hurt.

Jack looks around; the place covered with snow now, with the moonlight glistening, and the winter spirits frosts all the glass windows he can find, shattered or still intact. He draws on them like they were canvas, creating works of art that even professional painters would be in awe of. It takes awhile, and Jack is sure it's past midnight by now but his art is finished, all windows now decorated with his artistic talent.

He's proud of himself and for a brief moment he wishes someone could see this.

But Jack pushes those thoughts away and walks up to a cracked window, spreading his arms towards it. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and whispers: _oh please, please let this work_.

Jack feels his hands pulse but when he opens his eyes, everything is the same. Nothing is alive and Jack shakes his head, _because no, no I can do it_, so he closes his eyes again and desperately tries to make his drawings come alive.

They do not.

The boy feels his hope shatter, he's used to this but still it hurts. Defeated, Jack calls for the wind and goes back to his pond.

He tries again and again.

Jack returns to the same lonesome town again, each time trying to imitate Sandman's technique. And each time he leaves with no success, leaving the frosted windows with wonderful works of art with no one to see.

He's not sure how many times he's visited the ghost town but Jack keeps coming back, he doesn't want to give up. Not yet. So when it's past midnight once again, and the windows are drawn on once again, Jack wonders if this is all for nothing. He shakes his head and clutches his staff, walks up to a frosted window and concentrates.

_It's not going to work._

Jack shakes his head roughly once again, he closes his eyes tightly, biting his lip as he lets go of his staff, the wooden Sheppard crook clattering onto the ground. His fingers curl desperately in an attempt to bring his work of art back to life. The silence and cold around him is bitter as ever. Jack opens up his eyes.

And finds nothing.

There's a choked up sob and Jack rests his forehead against the glass window, tears welling up in his eyes and freezing as they fall over. He looks at his hands, _why doesn't it work_, and he's never felt so alone and hopeless and it hurts.

"I wanted to play with someone, that's all."

He places his hand on the frosted window, fingers tracing lightly over the drawing of a girl. His fingers curl again, wonders what he did wrong, why no one can see him, why he's so alone. The winter spirit smiles bitterly at the moon then back at the frosted drawing, his hands cupping at empty air.

And that's when it happens.

Slowly, the frosted drawing of the young girl begins to materialize in front of him, white and crystal clear with her form still visible. Her eyes, mouth, hands, face, every detail he drew forms perfectly and Jack's eyes widen; his cheeks still stained with his frozen tears. He takes a step back as the girl finally finishes developing and she has a small smile on her glimmering face, curls made of specks of ice fall to her shoulders, and a long lacy dress flows around her. She bows gracefully at him.

The boy is in shock.

He did it. He finally did it, his drawing, his work of art came to life and he's not sure if he's hallucinating or if this is real but he made the girl come back to _life_. And Jack feels his tears sting at his eyes again but he knows this time it's not from loneliness or pain.

Jack quickly bows back, a smile of pure joy etched onto his face and oh how his chest swells with happiness and hope, and he takes the icy girl gently by her hand, leading her out into the middle of the town. She's silent but Jack does not care, he's not alone anymore, at least not right now and Jack tells her _wait here_ as he goes to another frosted window. He takes his hand and with a swipe to the air, another pair of drawings comes to life. A man and a women step out, chatting with no sound emitting from them and Jack twirls around them, skipping happily to another window. He brings those drawings alive as well, he goes to another and another until he's made sure every single one of his creations are alive and soon the whole town is bustling with glistening folks as they walk around, dancing and playing games with each other. Jack stares at his vivid creations, how they all seemed so alive and how they all acknowledged that he was there.

This time Jack's never felt so lively, happy.

Wrapping his cloak around him to make him look more presentable, Jack walks up to the girl that smiled at him first. He bows again, whispers "may I have this dance?" and the girl complies, rests her cold and loose hands on his and lets him lead, her movements graceful and ethereal. Jack hums a tune that's familiar; he doesn't remember where he's heard it before but he knows it by heart.

Jack laughs and grins cheerfully as he dances the night away with his new friends.

He's not alone anymore.

Its dawn and his lively friends are slowly beginning to disappear.

By retrospect, Jack should have known, after all the rays of the sun peeking over the horizon lets him know all too well that the fun would be over soon. The frosty creations begin to melt, slow and gradual, but the winter spirit doesn't stop talking to them, he doesn't halt for a second and when his glittery girl is the last one standing among puddles of cold water, Jack only beams at her and watches her smile back at him. She bows one last time, thanking him, and soon he's left alone.

It only hurts for a few seconds but soon Jack finds himself excited once again, for he knows that as soon as the sun sets again, this town will become alive again.

And he won't be so lonely anymore.


End file.
